


Wintercearig

by BramblingBarberries



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Multi, The Seeds and the High Horse they rode in on, You guessed it - things don't go according to The Plan.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BramblingBarberries/pseuds/BramblingBarberries
Summary: Once upon a time there was a woman and her soulmates.Once upon a time, there was a slightly different ending.Once upon a time Wrath found peace.Those she left behind didn't.- Please note, this is a one-shot based off of a specific chapter (Miss-Chance) in 'Saddest Words of Pen or Tongue' written by the amazing 'TheWyldeWynd' with their permission. It will probably won't make much sense if you haven't already read their work - in which case I thoroughly recommend you go do yourself a favour and read it.





	Wintercearig

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Saddest Words of Tongue or Pen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401481) by [TheWyldeWynd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWyldeWynd/pseuds/TheWyldeWynd). 

> Thanks again to the fantastic TheWyldeWynd for letting me play around in this universe.
> 
> This one-shot follows on pretty much directly from the events in the chapter Miss - Chance from Johns perspective. I hope to have kept a fairly similar style to the original as I didn't want it to seem like an entirely different story, but there will be differences.
> 
> Also, anything in brackets () tends to represent more conscious thought. There is a deliberate choice to exclude those at times.
> 
> That being said- let's begin.

There was blood on him.

There was blood on her.

It pooled around them, _on _them, covering his hands, _covering her_, so much so he wasn't sure where he ended and she began anymore _(he hadn't thought people could bleed this much)_. A seeping, fluid mass of scarlet, slowly soaking into her hair, her skin, her clothes _(everywhere except where it was meant to be)._ The earth appeared ravenous, devouring the sacrificial offering greedily, siphoning the remnants of a life so easily taken, so easily _spilled._

It marked him. A scarlet hand branding him for all to see in his guilt and his heartbreak, of his _shame_ and his _failure, of his **sin**._

He deserved it.

_she's dead._

<strike> _she's not coming back_ </strike>

_..._

There was a part of him that knew he should move, that it wasn't **safe** _(it hadn't been safe for her, in the end)_ \- a left-over instinct, a sense of self-preservation that seemed strange, now, as he sat amidst a ruin of his own making.

He knew it with a certainty borne in his bones that the **heathens **and the **sinners** were still out there, taking from his flock and his **family**, from his **brothers. **Oblivious to their greed and their foolish obstinacy, wilfully ignorant of the salvation offered before them. They would be all too happy to see him fall.

_especially now_

_you've gone and killed their deputy after all_

How they spat on the Grace and the Mercy that had been offered to them. He saw now though, they had committed a much greater sin. (_his poor deputy, so lost and alone. so desperate for love she'd been led astray)._

The sinners would be coming and yet...his soulmate, his reason, his **life** lay there, dead.

_he hadn't meant for things to turn out this way._

What precious little remained of the Deputy _(his, she had been his)_-his _soulmate _lay before him. A broken, bleeding **empty **echo of herself.

  
  
_how did we not know? _

_how did we not realise?_

_she said he had beautiful eyes_

_she'd been **happy**_

_..._

He wasn't quite sure when it had so horrifically wrong.

Had it started when they were flying?  
Had it been when they had risen from the ruins of their respective planes, battered and bruised and broken?  
Or was it when he had seen her standing defiant and proud still, despite it all, against all the odds?

Always rising from defeat, always so full of **Pride**?

He had been so angry and frustrated _(why couldn't she see what she was doing? why couldn't she see they were trying to **help?**)_\- felt his own **wrath **and his own **pride** pooling beneath his skin, angry at her and angry at himself. Furious at her continued defiance and frustrated at his failure to bring her into the fold of their flock, into their light, into their _Salvation._

He couldn't bare to acknowledge the small part of him that had seen her and had wanted to ignore Joseph and his _guidance_ and his _Voice_ and just **end it, end her, end all the problems she created just by _existing_**.

The Deputy-_his soulmat_\- .

He struggled to focus on her-on her face. Was it the tears, or the all-consuming haze of grief he was drowning in?

_how could he look at her? he'd **killed** her_

Would he remember her face?

He would remember the moment he had shot her _(had that been him? **how could that have been him?)** _with a clarity that was agonizing, that much at least was certain.

She had been standing, always _rising_, defiant and proud and so full of Wrath.

_He'd wanted_....what _had_ he wanted so desperately?

To see her defeated?

To see her before Joseph, humbled and full of remorse-of contrition?

To see her acknowledge her _sin_, her _Pride _and her _Wrath_?

To see her repent? 

Had he wanted her to see what power saying Yes held? - to seek the forgiveness and absolution _that they, that Joseph, they **he**_ could grant her.

But he had failed. And she was dead.

_(because of you)_

  
...

Time was passing, he knew this; he could **hear **the cars and the trucks screeching to a halt and swarming the area like locusts, could hear that people were moving and gathering, speaking in hushed murmurs - gesturing towards him (_at her, at them)_ and yet his brain was filtering it out (_what could have been more important then her?)_

He was probably supposed to care if they were his faithful or the heretics.

<strike> _whatwouldJacobsay**they'dneverforgivehim**theywere**waiting**howcouldhetellthem-theirsouldmatewas**deaditwashi-**_ </strike>

He didn't.

All that mattered was her.

(_she's dead, it's her corpse)_.

The heretics and sinners could kill him if they wanted, he wouldn't notice _(he was already half way there)._ And well, if it was the faithful...he was better off dead.

He didn't think he could face his brothers, his soulmat-

_(they'll never see her smile, hear her **voice)**_

** **

There was a strange absence of feeling as her stared at her. It was like she had taken all the joy and the anger, the **wrath **and the **pride,** and taken the rest of him with her.

He was conscious of the deep, painful ache across his chest; could feel the gaping wound where his heart used to be and it was haemorrhaging blood just like she had done - trying to <strike>_reachherbringherbackcomeback-_</strike>

** _dontleaveme_**_._  
  


Amidst all noise and the slowly rising clamour around him, she was all he could see. The rest of the world was a haze, her words _(her last words, his words, **their** words)_ echoing painfully through his head, through **his heart**.

Despite all the bloodshed and the dirt and the pain _(that he, that **they** had put there) _she had still been so _beautiful._

Had that really been her, staring up at him in happiness? Full of such simple delight even as she lay dying, just because her soulmate was with her?  
  
  
_would the guilt kill him first - or would they?_

Her eyes had been so green, vibrant and shining in a face covered in blood _(that's hers, you put that there) - he hadn't thought she could be so lovely, so full of **joy** when she looked at him, even in his wildest dreams- _he hadn't seen a colour so lovely, so full of wonder for _him_ outside of his brothers.

She looked so peaceful, so at home in his arms... so uncannily tranquil for a woman he had known for her endless, ceaseless destruction.

It didn't seem right on her somehow.

_that's because you got it wrong_

....

There were bloody hands cradling her face (_they're yours, this is your fault)._

For an intense, all-consuming moment he stared blindly at her face-_her eyes closed, peacefully, just like she was sleeping (**she isn't)** _and he didn't know how he could hate someone **so much**.

**He hated himself more.**

...

The Father had been having a strange day.

He had woken to a strange, restless energy circling through the complex and his faithful. He hadn't thought much of it; quite often these days the Resistance and the Deputy were a source of great frustration to much of his flock. Himself also, if he was being honest.

_And then....then there had been the strangest sense of despair..._

It had come to him in a moment of profound disquiet that lingered still.

He had tried to listen for The Voice -_had he erred? had something gone astray?_ but it had been silent in a way that felt deafening for once instead of comforting.

He would have been worried for his brothers, _his soulmates_, and yet their words remained bold and strong.

Joseph hadn't been sure what to expect when he had received the call from his faithful about his youngest brother, but it certainly wasn't that he had been found with a woman in his arms and John himself near catatonic in a field.

_do you feel that?  
_

Between the bizarre nature of the call and that strange, ominous feeling that had been shadowing him, Joseph had been worried. Had been worried enough to call Jacob to his side, something he was hesitant to do. He knew the responsibilities Jacob took upon himself and yet, John had always been the most...delicate of them all and the events surrounding this incident were...perturbing.

_the silence was <strike>**oppressive**hissoulwas**achingbroken**</strike>_

Whatever he had been expecting to see, it wasn't what came through the Church doors.

Heralded in was John, surrounded by his chosen, carrying a...corpse?

His eyes furrowed behind his glasses in concern -"John?"

His brother flinched, almost imperceptibly.

Johns' mouth moved without sound, searching for words before closing, twisting into an unhappy grimace. His face was visibly distraught and it was obvious he had been crying, tear tracks lining his face.

Jacob and Joseph shared a look of concern. It wasn't often their baby brother was lost for words. Joseph felt...strange, the ominous pit of dread and despair surging back with a vengeance _(had it ever left?)._

"John, why are you carrying - is that...?"

John had been shepherded further into the building. Clutched in his arms, the figure slowly becoming clearer; a gleam of distinctive red hair shining in the sunlight that streamed through the church windows. It was anomalous in it's bright, vibrant colour amidst the muted, tense atmosphere that echoed in their place of worship.

He felt a rush of acute..._something_ _<strike>angerdisappointmentdisbelief?**despair** </strike>_fill him_._

_She was...dead? No, that can't be right -**The Voice said she was a part of this.**_

"John. _What happened?"_ His voice was stern, harsh - He could see Jacob staring at him intently out of the corner of his eye, silently disapproving.

John visibly curled in on himself - the part of Joseph that existed completely for his brothers immediately regretted his tone. The part of Joseph that was The Father, who existed as more than a brother, or a soulmate, needed to know what had happened and how to mitigate the damage.

He tried to ignore the clamouring voice in his head that focused solely on John and his own selfish need to know what had hurt his soulmate so deeply. On why the Deputy, their Wrath and their Herald was dead and being held so fiercely_(tenderly)_ in his arms.

_Could the voice have been wrong, after all of this?_

_-He had thought she was meant to join them-_

And yet the Deputy continued to lie there, cradled to Johns' chest.

John was coming closer_(was that reluctance he saw in his brother?)_.

It seemed a hollow twist of fate, how easily she had fallen before them, how Josephs claims of unity, of **triumph** over her, fell with her.

_Her blood lay over them, an accusation, a condemnation of them both._

Joseph looked at his approaching brother, at his surrounding chosen, at _her_ and the blood and the guilt all over his brothers face and **_knew._**

He steeled himself through the growing anger and disappointment welling up in him (_that's dread you're feeling)__. _The picture painted itself with a painful ease. John had failed him. Had been led astray, guided by his own Wrath and Pride, sins Joseph had always known lurked close to his brother.  
  
His worst sin perhaps, was that he had disobeyed Joseph, _disobeyed the Voice_-and the deputy was dead because of it.

  
But.

But John was still his brother and his soulmate and he was in pain.

That mattered more in this moment than their plans for the Deputy and the heretics that had amassed at her feet.

"I- Joseph- Jacob-"

Johns voice hit them like a physical blow, broken and raw, hoarse with grief."..._please_, _I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry"_

A wave of pure _anguish_ accompanied it. Joseph felt himself momentarily drowning in John's emotions, sucked under in the swell of grief and sorrow. He found he had moved instinctively towards John before he could help it. (_Don't stop, this is your soulmate, he **needs **you_).

It was almost a physical need to go and comfort John, to do anything to stop his obvious distress - Joseph grounded himself, his practicality winning out by a narrow margin. He couldn't fix something if he didn't know the cause. Even he wasn't omniscient.  
What could have caused such anguish within his brother? _(it can't have been her...surely)_

He shot a concerned glance towards Jacob, who stood curiously still, more drawn and tense than normal. Jacob had always worn his heart tucked away, safe from all but his brothers - John on the other hand.  
John tended to feel passionately and deeply, but even for John this was extreme. He may have disappointed Joseph and disobeyed The Plan but this depth of emotion felt...strangely disproportionate.

Jacob seemed oblivious to Joseph's gaze and was focused intently on John and...the Deputy?

_that sense of **loss** kept growing stronger, cloying and ceaseless, <strike>**overwhelming-**</strike>_

Joseph needed to regain some measure of control over the situation, swiftly.

A look back at John saw him sobbing and pleading, a litany of apologies falling from his lips, to Jacob, Joseph and again, strangely, the deputy.

_His eyes kept being drawn to the woman in his brothers arms, something clawing at the edge of his brain, incessant._

He turned his gaze towards his Faithful, those who had successfully brought John to his brothers. He bestowed them with a warm smile, trying to portray a sense of comfort he didn't feel.

"My Children..." The words trailed off, a gentle greeting -a welcoming of the faithful. "Can any of you report on this situation?" His voice was soft, smiling, but the tone underneath was pure steel.

The few Chosen who had been tentatively supporting John snapped to attention with a fervency that he would normally find slightly amusing, but in this instance had no patience for. The moments ticked over slowly, gradually evolving into an awkward silence.

_"Well?"_ The smile was fading now, leaving behind the severity of the Father and his judgement.

Slowly they shook their heads, knowing their answer would displease the Father and (perhaps in this instance, more worryingly) Jacob, but most unable to shed more light on the matter. One particularly stalwart Chosen presented himself and looked towards Joseph as if seeking approval. Joseph sighed, patience close to ending as he fought with himself to go to Johns' side _(to her side, to their side)_

"Report, my child. No matter how strange it may seem, there is no judgement here"

Said Chosen stiffened and eyed the eldest brother nervously, as Jacob seemed to free himself of the static hold that had gripped him and approached John with a pace that almost seemed...hurried?

_and her, both of them, <strike>he'sgoingtothemboth</strike>_

_"Report"._ There was no patience now, Joseph was balancing on a razors edge of control.

"We don't know the specifics, John and _the Deputy_"- the emphasis on the words 'Deputy' were filled with a distaste and vitriol he found he could normally ignore from his frustrated parishioners, but grated even further against his nerves today. Sensing the hostility emanating from bizarrely, _all_ of the brothers, the Chosen continued on (wisely), increasingly unnerved by the events of the day.

"-They were in some kind of battle, we think they shot each other down. We found John just...._holding her_" This was said with a bewilderment echoed on the faces of all the faithful present.

"We tried to move him to safety, to get him to leave her there-"

At this, John seemed to momentarily come out of whatever trance he was in and _snarled_ at the Chosen and impossibly, clutched the deputy closer. "_She's **ours"**. _The sick feeling of dread in Joseph intensified _(was there room for anything else now?)_, if he hadn't already known something was desperately wrong, he would certainly now. John had always had a fixation with the deputy that had bordered on unhealthy, it's why he had tried so hard to help _guide_ him where she was concerned but this was...

This was...

John raised his head to gaze at both Joseph and Jacob, his piercing blue eyes so impossibly heartbroken.

_"I'm sorry, I'm so **sorry** -please, Jo - I'm so - "_ A breathless, hiccuping gasp interrupted whatever else he was going to say. His mouth seemed to form the words rather than speak them. His eyes, blue and bloodshot and so full of pain. They were _pleading_ with Joseph to understand, to _absolve him_.

Josephs eyes seemed to bore into John for an eternity before slowly drifting down _(finally)_ to look at _her_.

The Heretic -The Herald -The Deputy.

She had proven to be their greatest foe and **should have been** their greatest triumph.

That strange sense of nausea was intensifying, curdling like so much spoiled milk in his veins the longer he stared.

There was....something there?_ (there always was)._

_ weren't you looking?_

<strike> _ **why weren't you looking** _ </strike>

His eyes seemed to refuse to focus, there was...something on her arm...on her chest. He couldn't see the back of her neck but there was a nagging certainty beginning to form in the back of his mind _(it had always been there)._

Through the blood and the mess of clothing and dirt, the grey, blurry shapes seemed draw him in with a magnetizing clarity; they looked faded, strangely distorted _\- as if-_

There was a roaring in his ears and a pit in his stomach and that sense of **despair.**

**"_No"._**

He was coming closer - or was she?

It was like a bitter, hazy ash falling across her skin. They were no longer words, would never again become **words**, but nonetheless they had been there-_were still there, a bitter, terrible truth-_ and they spoke to his _soul_ and he recognised them (_how had he not sooner?)._

He saw...and all that was left now was **_agony_**.

_Where was The Voice? Was this what it meant? **This couldn't be what was meant to happen.**_

_"John"_ He didn't recognise his voice.

He could see it in Jacob now, the heartbreak, the anguish, the **despair**. It was written in the lines of his face - a cold, quiet grief. It sat heavy in his brow, in the tense grit of his jaw...Jacob had realised earlier, but Joseph hadn't-_didn'tcouldn't-_ want to _see_.

John was shaking his head, clutching and grasping compulsively at the Deputy-their _soulmate_-as if by holding her it could bring her back, fix the ruin of her body-_fix them_.

_Is this what we have wrought?_

For the first time in a long time, Joseph felt _doubt_.

He was absently aware he was swaying on his feet. There was a twisting, roiling sense disbelief in his gut. A yawning abyss stood before him _(it looked like her)_. A maw of desolation waiting to swallow him whole, waiting to swallow **him**, _his **brothers**, his** soulmates** -afterall, it already had **her**-._

_(she had been so beautiful)_

If it wasn't for his brothers, standing before him, their faces stricken in their misery-

_-He remembered her in the church. His eyes had fallen, been drawn to her- the light that had seemed to surround her. She had carried herself with grace, with **purpose** and **duty**._

_They had seemed heavy on her shoulders._

"Joseph..." That had been Jacob, an uncharacteristic coarseness in his voice.

Clarity seemed to strike him all at once.

_.....No......._

_No, it was **them. **The **sinners** and the **heretics**. Those who had denied **Truth** and **Salvation** when it was before them._

_..._

They had **poisoned** her.

Had turned her against those who had meant to save her.

Their own ruination and **sin** had denied her the peace and grace of Eden, of the Salvation that had been her birthright. Denied her of the arms and the **love** of her soulmates, those she was** _meant to be with_**_._

He didn't think he could forgive them.

He wasn't sure he wanted too.

_His heart was weeping. For her, for **them**, for what could have been, **should have been-**_

**Lost.**

Never would he hear her **words** or her **voice**. For as long as he and his brothers remained, shepherding their Children, she would be forever out of reach.

_She had been meant to find them._

_..._

Jacob stood before him, somehow _(when had he moved)_.

In the moment he seemed...lesser somehow. As if all the hardships of his life had suddenly caught up with him and what was left was a husk, a hollow approximation of what should have been **Jacob**.

"Joseph" The words seemed empty somehow.

"...don't blame Johnny-"

Joseph's eyes cut across from Jacob to John in a flash - a chilling distance in his gaze, one that usually only held _love_ and _adoration _for his brothers.

"Joseph, I swear - I didn't mean to, _I didn't know - I didn't **mean to**-"_

Fat, liquid tears were trailing down John's face, making new rivers in the blood and filth that coated him.

"John."

Joseph's voice projected a calm he didn't feel. **_"Tell me this isn't your fault."_**

He could see the moment his words hit his brothers, fully able to feel the depth of his emotion behind the calm facade.

_"Tell me you aren't the reason our **soulmate** **is dead**." _If John had been a mess before hearing Joseph speak, he was once again nearly catatonic with grief. Joseph's words gouged into his soul, prying into the open, infected wounds the deputies death had left and filling them with what felt like acid, with his _desolation, _with his _heartbreak_ and his _loss_ and his _wrath._

His words had been cutting, deliberately cruel in a way that was so unlike Joseph that Jacob physically _ached_ to see it, to _feel_ it.

Joseph's face was smooth as stone as he addressed John and yet, looking at his eyes, Jacob could see the _anger,_ the_ Wrath_ lying behind them.

_it scares you, doesn't it  
_

...

Joseph felt himself struggling with what felt like a seething, incoherent mass of _rage -<strike>griefangerdespair**regret**...love</strike>._

He loved John; had always loved John, always would - John was his precious_, wonderful soulmate, his miracle_ \- both he and Jacob had formed the crux, the very pillars of his being, had brought meaning into his life in a world that was otherwise bleak and empty. He didn't know what it was like to _not_ love them but....

But he was so _angry._

So _disappointed_ in what had so clearly been a moment guided by **Wrath** and **Pride**.

_(she had been their soulmate too_)

He could Forgive John. Eventually.

... He loved him too much to abandon him, to reject and turn his back on him. On Jacob. On either of them.

_Not to mention..._

_You've already lost **her**._

He had lost one soulmate. He refused to lose anymore.

But -

But.

...Looking at John now, grieving, shuddering, feverishly clutching at the body of the Deputy, the one who was supposed to be a part of their plan, a part of **them** _(did she even know, did she have any idea how much they **loved her**?)_-

He couldn't offer John the atonement he needed.

Couldn't offer him the absolution he so desperately craved from his brothers, his soulmates_, from Joseph_ **_(from her)._**

He couldn't even forgive himself yet. Couldn't forgive his own blindness, his own..._pride._

The Voice had told him.

_(why hadn't he been listening?)_

How was he supposed to forgive John a crime he had yet to forgive himself for?

...

She was in his arms now, Josephs and Johns both.

He had never wanted to hold her like this.

_there was supposed to be joy_

Jacob was there, gazing at them, sombre and heartbroken, but still trying so **desperately **to be their stalwart wall, their _protector, _the brother they_ needed him to be.  
_Jacob would grieve in his own time and his own way.  
He was the only brother that didn't touch her. Almost...avoided her with a precision that bordered on manic urgency. As if touching her would break down that last wall and leave him an empty, ruined shell _(wouldn't it?_

_that's all you are now._

  
And Joseph would be there when he did.

_Her hair was dripping blood onto the Church floor_

Joseph didn't know if he could ever let her go.

She was so..._lovely. (why didn't you come to us)_

...

There was a calm in the room that belied the tempest lurking beneath it.

_"I..."_

It wasn't an entirely conscious decision to speak- he only realised he had as he saw his brothers reaction. An involuntary flinch, a recoiling that was as automatic as breathing, a near physical rejection of his words.

He paused.

"...She will rest in the Chapel."

It was said as an edict, the demand of the Father, and yet his voice felt strangely rough and halting.

His words broke a silence that felt near sacred.

But nonetheless his throat had somehow managed to form something that approximated speech.

<strike> _unwillingunwantedthosearentthewordsthosearentyour-their**our**words_ </strike>

The words he had somehow managed to dredge from the very depths of his being

_"At least...for now..." _It left him in a sigh, full of a weariness, a weight that hadn't been there previously.

John lurched forwards, a sudden motion halted by the firm hand Jacob had placed on his shoulder. Joseph looked once more to his youngest brother _(his other lost soulmate)_.

"No, John"

There was a grave finality in his words.

"I will do this...and I will do it alone"

His words had hurt him again. He could see the pain reflected in his eyes.

Pools of azure which he had always so adored.

But not this time

...

It was selfish he knew, but a moment he would grant himself. A moment outside of being The Father, the Brother, the Soulmate they needed.  
It pained him, but it would pain him more to have them present - this was a moment that could be shared with none, not even his brothers.

Especially not John.

Not now.

Not when her blood-

His sins. His pride. Perhaps fittingly, his **Wrath**. _(theirs?)_

That's what had led them here to this grim alter.

To her, lying _dead-_

No. Joseph had to do this alone.

...

He was staring at her _(what's left of her)._

_She's dead - that's her corpse, appearances don't matter now (**do they**)._

She was all he could see.

All he could focus on.

His beautiful, exquisite **failure**.

He had failed her, as surely as he had failed his brothers; failed them all as their soulmate, their guide, their _shepherd_.

He wasn't sure which failure hurt the most.

There was a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

...

A hand was reaching out as if to try and touch her face -_was that his? It had to be, no one else was here._

There was a peculiar detachment between his body and his conscious thought. His fingers ostensibly operating of their own accord, desperate to form any kind of connection with her...his last soulmate, the last love of his life (_not least, **never** least)._

_too late for that now_

They seemed to hover over her skin, afraid to confirm- _(you already know)_

_there's no bringing her back_

No matter their plea, or their desperation, or their **_love_**_, _it couldn't reach her now.

No reprieve for their broken hearts.

No reprieve for their broken souls.

...

Her skin was soft. Despite everything, it was soft and smooth.

He could **feel** the ache of his chest and the wet trails his tears left on his face, marking him in a way that was much deeper than skin - marking his soul, marking itself in him with a pain and a sorrow borne of such profound loss he wasn't sure how he was supposed to bare it. It carved out a niche for itself where his heart was supposed to be and left nothing else - he wasn't even sure if his brothers could fill it. The empty void, the hole in his heart that had been _hers_.

_it had always been yours_

How was he supposed to say goodbye?

How were any of them?

Jacob had stayed outside with John as per Josephs request _(demand)_, guarding him, comforting him, being all the things Joseph couldn't.

He was grateful for it. The part of him not consumed by the scalding heat of his fury, of the inescapable _rage and the pain, _the part that was still crying out for him to go and comfort John, his soulmate _(and oh, how that ached now)_-  
Well. That part of him was grateful John was not alone, could find the solace he so desperately needed where he would find none with Joseph.

He would go back eventually.

They needed him.

_**She** had needed him._

...

There was light streaming through the windows, dust motes catching in the air.

They danced in an almost endless spiral, slowly sinking into her, onto her, drawn into her skin, seeping into what seemed like her very soul _(but that's gone now)._

There was a part of him that wished he could go with them, to sink into her and never resurface.

But.

But his soulmates _(the only ones left)_ were out there, waiting for him.

But he was the Father.

_that's supposed to mean something._

He drew that mantle around him tightly once more, so closely he wasn't sure if there would be any of _Joseph, _of the _brother_ or the _soulmate _left. It would have to do. It was all he had left.

...

She would be buried somewhere as beautiful as she had been - somewhere sacred, in the places they could protect so none but they could reach her.

_that was the least he could do._

_We'll join you one day._

** _I promise._ **

** **

_..._

He was looking back at her-_when had he drawn away?_

_Would he ever stop?_

** **

She looked peaceful.

Perhaps she was.

...

No one else would be.

_He'd make sure of it._

**Author's Note:**

> ........I swear, there were proper paragraphs when I wrote this on my computer.
> 
> ...So please let me know what any of you think? ^^
> 
> Edit: Fixed some typos I missed the first type around.


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